Illusion Confusion
by Gomro Morskopp
Summary: COMPLETED. Another fight with Drakken and Shego. Just a typical day for Kim Possible. But sinister eyes are watching, and the sitch is worse than she could imagine. DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, especially not Kim Possible. Everything is on lease.
1. Chapter 1

" Shego! " yelled Drakken, greedily clutching some sort of gyroscope-like device. "Why must I always _ask_ you to do something about this teen? Can't you take the _initiative_ for once?"

"Ok, I'm _on_ it, Dr. D," she irritably replied, and somersaulted over the mad doctor's head to land right in front of Kim, ready for battle. "There's a TV on in the lobby," she chattily informed the teenage hero. "I was watching _Agony County_." She swung at Kim, missed, swung again. "I hear they're canceling it at the end of the season."

"Crazy network," Kim said, countering each of Shego's blows, "they cancel all their shows at the end of three seasons." She spun, did a handstand, kicked the villainess in the chest, sending her flying against the wall. "I'll miss it when it's gone."

"There's always fanfiction," Shego snarled, triggering her plasma blasts. "Not that you'll be writing any."

"...fanfiction," Shego snarled, triggering her plasma blasts. "Not that you'll be writing any."

Kim put her hand to her head, muttered "Déjà vu!" and turned to face her adversary, wondering where Ron had gone. Hadn't he been here just minutes before?

And the fighting continued. As always. Sometimes it seemed like her whole life was nothing but a fight.

* * *

The living room was delightfully cozy, furnished in truly the height of fashion. A giant TV filled most of one wall; two viewers sat together on a couch, eating popcorn and watching the evening news.

The newscaster was particularly haggard this evening, biting her fingernails, looking furtively around the set. Suddenly realizing the camera was on, she croaked out "Tonight it's…..it's..." Behind her a giant image of Duff Killigan's face appeared, followed by an aerial view of the Hawaiian Islands, volcanoes choking on huge jet-propelled golf balls. Seeing this surrealistic landscape, the woman began waving her arms, yelling directly into the camera: " It's ch- chaos! Chaos!"

An off-stage voice clearly muttered "Calm down, Summer – "

"_CHAOS!_" She lunged at the camera, eyes red, teeth bared. There was a moment of static, several unintelligible outcries, then a commercial.

And another.

And another.

Some fifteen or twenty ads later, the news returned. The man behind the newsdesk began stiffly, unprofessionally reading the teleprompter, his voice a nasal whine, shirt buttoned incorrectly, toupee a lopsided nightmare. "Well, we, ah, at KXKVI are certainly, er, sorry about that. Summer Gale will, uh, be back tomorrow, we hope. If the medication works. It's been a tough couple of weeks for all of us. Er, ah, I'm Bing Crosby – not _that_ one – and our top story tonight is still: _Supervillain Scourge!_ From Duff Killigan's not-so-miniature golf course, formerly the Hawaiian Islands, to Frugal Lucre's hostile takeover of SmartyMart, villainy has been the, uh, order of the day. For days," he improvised, and chuckled, proud of himself.

The two viewers laughed, more at him than with him.

A familiar young woman's face was projected behind Bing Crosby, who seized the moment to add some misplaced drama to his dismal narration. "And the world is still asking: WHERE – IS – KIM – POSSIBLE? It has been TWO WEEKS since ANYONE has heard from the legendary young crimebuster. We now go LIVE to GREGG GREATMAN in Possible's home town, MIDDLETON, COLORADO."

"He ees a mere _piker_, "commented the middle-aged woman, between handfuls of popcorn. "_Your_ presentation would have been a _thousand_ times more eempressive."

The man beside her laughed. "Not everyone can pull off ze LOUD VOICE, mein _liebling_. It is a GIFT! Der Bingle should go back to ze crooning. I quite _White Christmas_ liked."

"He's not _that_ Bing Crosby, dear."

"Oh. There ist another?"

On the giant screen a reporter stood outside a home, microphone in hand, hair glued into a pompadour, a toothy, too-white grin affixed to his face. Knocking on the door, he announced " I'm Gregg Greatman, live in Middleton, and I'm about to stick a microphone in the faces of two grieving parents and ask them troubling questions, such as 'What do you think has happened to your daughter' and the ever-popular 'Some people are saying that she's let the whole world down. How do you feel about that?'"

When there was no answer, Greatman knocked again, harder.

Still nothing.

Greatman unleashed a fusillade of knocks. "No one ignores Gregg Greatman! My callous reporting almost won a Pulitzer, you know!" he snarled, not noticing the motorcycle that had just pulled into the driveway of the Possible home. "I _would_ have won, too, if not for the lawsuits."

A hand reached out from behind the reporter, grabbed the microphone; the camera panned to reveal a blunt-featured behemoth of a man. " I'm Steve Barkin," he slowly rumbled, "one of Possible's high-school teachers and an ex-Marine. I've been watching this travesty, and I've seen a lot of stupid things in my time, but this one pretty much pegs the meter. I think Gregg here needs a lesson in _empathy_. " The reporter tried to cut and run, but Barkin effortlessly restrained him without even dropping the microphone. "I highly suggest you cut for a commercial."

An ad for the next _Agony County_ episode swept across the screen, not quite in time to blot out the first punch. Immediately afterward Bing Crosby returned, apologizing to the viewers: "Sorry, there've been some, er, technical difficulties with that report from Middleton. Maybe we'll have that later in the program. But don't hold your breath. And now – " His eyes went wide, obviously staring at something beyond the camera. "NEWS FLASH! It looks like the infamous DR. DRAKKEN and his sinister sidekick SHEGO have just BROKEN INTO THE – "

A blinding green flash, a dark screen. Some clicks and pops, a few flashes, a woman's voice. "Don't tell me you didn't bring needle-nose pliers. _Everyone_ knows you _always_ need needle-nose pliers – " A second later an evilly revolving spiral took over the airwaves, as the voice of Dr. Drakken intoned the hypnotist mantra: "You are getting sleeeepy… Sleeeeeeepy…Sleeeeeeeeee – "

The man on the couch looked away with a grimace. "Drakken. Alvays vith ze mind control. Hypnotism. Zat dog vill not hunt. Turn it off. Vatching his silly spiral vill a headache be giving."

The woman snapped her fingers; there was a tiny spark and the television blinked off. "Let us adjourn to the lab for some _real_ entertainment. Wonder who she ees fighting now?" Another snap, another spark, and a secret door opened in the wall.

"Your talent has zaved us a fortune in ze buying remote controls!" They walked down the spiral staircase; the helmeted man laughed softly.

"A Euro for your thoughts," said the woman, electricity arcing through her Bride of Frankenstein bouffant, eyes invisible behind her goggles.

"Zometink I read very long ago. 'Down ze zeven hundred steps, to ze Gate of Deeper Slumber.'

"And here ees our little deep sleeper now."

The lab lights clicked on, revealing chromium walls and electronic panels. In the centre of the room was a large cylinder, surrounded by hoses and cables, flickering with its own ominous illumination. Suspended in that fluid-filled cylinder was a young woman, her trademark red hair gone, a thick cable connected to the back of her head. Other tubes and wires were fastened her body at various points. Her eyes were closed; there was no sign of life except the rising and falling of her chest, breathing the oxygen-rich chemical solution.

A sane person would have been revolted and appalled; Electronique tittered with glee. "An utterly eevil revange!"

" Kimberly Anne Possible. " Professor Dementor snorted in annoyance. "Here is ze girl that always would ze vorld be zaving – bah! Killigan, Drakken, Fiske, Hall, Shego, not even you and I could her defeating do." He smiled at his electrically charged companion. "But _together_ VE HAVE TAKEN HER FROM ZE PICTURE OUT! "

"Your application of the Wachowski theorem was a work of eeevil genius. This ees why the world treembles at your name."

Ah, but vithout your imaginative innovations, ze device vould never have been more than a curiozity! Ze day ve met, it vas in heaven ordained!

"Or the ahther place..." They both laughed. With another snap of her fingers, Electronique activated the massive monitor screen. "Computehr! Show us the subject's current dream state."

"Immediately, Electronique," the synthetic voice buzzed in reply. The villains sat down to watch the show. It was always a lot more amusing than the news.

* * *

" Shego! " yelled Drakken, greedily clutching some sort of gyroscope-like device. "Why must I always _ask_ you to do something about this teen? Can't you take the _initiative_ for once?"

"Ok, I'm _on_ it, Dr. D," she irritably replied, and somersaulted over the mad doctor's head to land right in front of Kim, ready for battle. "There's a TV on in the lobby," she chattily informed the teenage hero. "I was watching _Agony County_." She swung at Kim, missed, swung again. "I hear they're canceling it at the end of the season."

The lithe young redhead staggered back, shook her head, ignoring her opponent. "Something's wrong. Something's terribly wrong."

"Are you all right, Kimmie?" There was concern in the older woman's voice.

"Where's Ron? Ron should _be_ here." Her eyes were wide with fright; was she going insane? "We were together. Somewhere else. And you weren't with us. Neither of you."

"Look, maybe you should lay down for a while. We'll just skedaddle and see you later. "

Drakken was dancing with rage, pumping his fists in the air. " Shego, finish her! What, are you her _mother_? Finish the job! "

"Sorry, cupcake, but he's calling the shots." She lunged at the girl, fists radiant with plasma. "Maybe you'll feel better after I knock you out."

Kim had no choice but to continue fighting. As always.

Sometimes it seemed like her whole life was a fight.


	2. Chapter 2

"Ah, goot. You have finally come around." Dementor waggled a finger in Ron's face. "There are questions to be answering, silly boy."

Ron was chained to the wall. That was typical. He'd been fastened to the walls of villainous lairs so many times over the past four years that he'd begun to develop merinthophobia. Sometimes he longed for the days when he had no reason to have learned that word.

This was definitely becoming one of those times.

Of course the Wadebot was gone; Dementor, unlike other mad scientists he could name, wouldn't be foolish enough to bring such a device into his sanctum sanctorum. Probably it had been unceremoniously destroyed.

"And you did find zis place _how_? I do not brag to zay I am ze finest at ze lair shielding, ever."

Ron said nothing.

"Who have you been telling, now? Ze silent treatment vill not do. Who else knows about your little discovery? I need information. Information. INFORMATION!"

"You won't get it," he spat.

"Oh, by ze hook or by ze crook, I vill. Komputor! Show our guest – er – our _other_ guest." Turning away from Ron, he muttered "Note to self: vork on ze evil repartee."

"As you request, Dementor," droned the electronic voice. A ceiling hatch slid open; the chemical-filled cylinder descended from above, Kim suspended within it. Faced with the awful sight, Ron cried out, a wordless sound of raw emotion, and strained against his bonds to no avail. "What have you _done_ to her? I'll – "

"Temper, temper," Dementor chided. "_You_ vill do NOTHING. But vhat _I_ have done IS A STROKE OF ZE PUREST UNADULTERATED GENIUS!" He laughed, loud and long. "Komputor, show ze young man his liebling's current status."

"Yes, Dementor."

They both watched the giant monitor as Kim leaped from one giant spinning top of doom to another, her weight deflecting them devastatingly into each other's paths, even as she drew nearer to Senor Senior, Senior and his custom-built megagravity projector. A healthy, vigorous Kim, not at all like the pale, almost motionless body connected to the cables and wires of her cylindrical prison.

"She iz in dreamland und doesn't even know it. Ve have supplied the machine vith eighty-zeven basic dream zequences."

Ron was usually immune to science, but that puzzled him. "Why eighty-seven?"

"Bekause to ze odd numbers I am partial."

Electronique had entered the lab. "Zome are interkahnected, making up leengthy adventours; some stand alone, separated by periods of dreamless rest. We don't want her burning owt on us."

"Burning out?" He realized he needed to encourage their ranting, get as much information out of these maniacs as he could. They might reveal something that could save Kim from the living hell they had engineered for her. Even if he couldn't understand it, he might be able to hold onto enough to help someone who could.

"Applied properly – as only Dementor and mysalf have been able to do – the Wachowski theorem not only makes its zubjects unable to distanguish dream from reality, but convarts them eento human batteries."

"So," Ron began, slowly, "this is like that _movie_."

"_La jetée_? No, eet ees nothing like that. Why would you think so?"

"Not _La jetée_," said Dementor, eyeing Ron strangely. "_Das Testament des Dr. Mabuse_. And it's nothing like _zat_, either. You are vun mixed-up kid."

Electronique returned to the subject at hand. "Be all that as it may. While she fights villain after villain een her dreems, she ees also powering both the machine and our villa. If we have a piece of toast een the morning, we have Kim Possible to thank for eet." She smiled at Dementor, who beamed in return.

Ron wasn't smiling.

"Ze komputor is quite capable of ze generating of new zequences, too," added Dementor, happy to have a captive audience. "But they vill all be deriving from ze data in ze original eighty-zeven. Those are ze ones she vill most often re-live, as vell." The insane inventor shrugged. "Ze beast, zat is its nature."

"There is _no way_ you could defeat Kim. She can do _anything_."

"Actually that ees not completely true." Electronique sounded almost apologetic. "Computehr analysis revealed that she _always_ loses the first skirmish. _Always_! Evon to peaple like Frugal Lucre, who are unworthy of the title of Zupervillain."

"Knowledge, power is being. Vhy ve never noticed it before... All the kickings and hittings it vould have been preventing! Ach!" The scientist winced with the memories. "So ve made sure zat, this time, ze _second_ skirmish would BE IN HER MIND ONLY! Thus ve fulfill ze law of ze second encounter victory... or at least she THINKS she has."

Electronique was watching the dream monitor. "In fact, she has defeated us zome thirrty or fourty times. But I haven't zeen her take on the Zeniors before."

"I have, mein dear, but I vill not spoil it for you."

"Not een the mood right now. I'll watch eet anather time." She left the room.

Dementor turned to Ron, his face anything but reassuring. "As for you, buffoon, ve have another Vachowski cylinder waiting. Komputor!"

The empty cylinder descended from the ceiling, surrounded by a swarm of small, hovering robots.

"Ze machines vill prepare you for ze insertion. Forever you vill be beside her, two little lovebirds, and ve shall be able to run ze washer and dryer simultaneously vithout dimming ze lights." The metal swarm ominously floated toward the struggling teenager as Dementor looked on with amusement. "VE ALL GET VHAT VE VANT!"

From the top of the spiral staircase a ball of green fire flew through the air, exploded in the midst of the robots. A figure in green nimbly leaped from level to level, dodging the stun rays of the surviving robots, blasting them out of the air one by one. "What _I_ want," shouted Shego, assuming a battle stance at the foot of the stairs, "is Kimmie."

"ON TREES ROBOTS DON'T GROW!" bawled Dementor. "And you found me _how_? _Ve_ don't label _our_ lairs. Zis place is turning into Grand Central Station!"

"All those _dish antennas_ in your back yard. Sure sign of technological evil."

"What about satellite TeeVee?"

"I believe I covered that."

"Ve thought you vere vith your blue buddy." The disdain in his voice was palpable. "Ze hypnotist. How did zat vork out for you?"

Hidden behind equipment, Electronique was delicately adjusting the knobs on an ominous machine. It was her invention, though Dementor had helped design it. She watched as meters peaked and oscilloscope patterns weaved across their tiny green screens.

Team Go had defeated her before, and she had no intention of repeating the experience. She threw the final switch; the lights flickered, but the machine was online, humming like a hornet's nest. Electronique looked it over one final time; satisfied, she walked back out to the main lab. Soon they would have _two _new batteries for their Wachowski device.

Unaware of her old enemy's plans, Shego continued: "_I_ don't stare into hypnotic spirals to see if they're working. Couldn't bring him around, and Global Justice was coming through the doors, so I skedaddled. Bigger fish to fry."

"So vhy must you bother us vith your nonsense?"

"Life was getting boring without Kim around to punch."

"I thought her _sidekick_ vas crazy. _You_ are _certifiable_."

She pointed to the cylinder with a claw-tipped finger. "Get her out of that, _now_. You can leave the sidekick in the chains, but when we go, he goes with us. He's part of Kimmie's entourage. Wouldn't be the same without him."

"Thanks," Ron glumly muttered.

"Don't mention it. And I _mean _that."

Electronique stepped out, whispered to Dementor without breaking her stride: "_We're ready_."


	3. Chapter 3

"Electronique? You – and Dementor?" Shego's surprise lasted only a moment; sarcastically, she continued, "Kids oughta be...interesting." She gestured again, imperiously, at Kim's cylindrical prison. "Open that thing, _now_, or I'll open it for you. If you want it in one piece, you'll choose the first option."

"I choose neithar." Electronique leaped into battle. "Eenstead you can join her een our Wachowski device. Your plasma ees no match for my electrical powairs. "

The two superpowered women warily circled each other. Shego knew that she could defeat this antique, even without using her powers. "Bring it on, lightning lady, and I'll short your circuits faster than you can blink."

"Your brothers aren't here to bail you aout. Zurrender while you still can."

Watching from overhead, Dementor donned goggles, chuckling to himself; seeing that, Ron yelled down at the harlequin, his enemy, hardly believing what he was doing. "Shego! It's a_ trap! _Don't – "

"ACH! SHUT UP YOUR MOUTH, BOY!" raged the scientist, backhanding his captive.

Shego glanced upward, distracted by the cry; instantly, brutally, Electronique attacked, first a blow to the stomach, then an uppercut. She fell back, reeling; Electronique faced her with a scornful sneer, hands on hips. "I don't _need_ my powairs to stop _you_!"

Howling with rage, Shego raised a hand to blast Electronique out of existence. Instead of pressing the attack, the older woman fell to the ground, shielding her face. There was a blinding emerald explosion, a deafening crack of thunder that almost drowned out the sharp, short scream.

When Ron could see again, Electronique was standing triumphantly over the fallen harlequin, who was moaning in pain, writhing on the floor, hands covering her face. One hand was blistered, the costume burned away from fingertips to elbow. Her hair was still smouldering.

"Of all Team Go's membars, " Electronique jeered, "you were the easiest to counter. Your plasma ees nothing but _ball lightning_. Evon _Wikipedia_ could tell you _that_. And ball lightning ees easily _disrupted_ with the prahper equipmont."

She reached down, dragged Shego to her feet. Even at a distance, Ron could see that one side of the once-beautiful face was burned and bleeding, eye squeezed shut. Electronique continued to gloat. "Your powairs are useless here. Naow you will join Kim Possible in – "

Without warning Shego lashed out with her remaining clawed glove, slashing her tormentor viciously across the face. "_That_ always works," she gasped, staggering away from the wailing Electronique, toward the cylinder and her long-time nemesis.

She had taken no more than three steps before a ray from overhead brought her down, this time for good. Dementor holstered the stun gun, ran to Electronique's side. "You are all right, yah? Did she hurt you?"

"_Fou merd__é_..." snarled Electronique. Four deep scratches across her cheek oozed blood. She angrily kicked the prostrate body. "I should – "

"Nein! Nein! She vill pay again and again, leibling. Dead, ve can't be using her. But alife, und installed in a Vachowski cylinder, she vill be supplying both power und amusement for a long tyme to come." Looking up at Ron, he yelled "Und as for you, blabbermouth, I believe ve vere readying you to be joining your girlfriend. Komputor! Prepare ze captive!"

"Yes, Dementor." Another horde of micro-robots advanced on Ron; this time, he knew, there would be no salvation coming.

* * *

"Show us ze current status of Fraulein Possible, komputor."

The giant monitor clicked on. Now Kim was battling a monstrous batrachian creature, gilled, scaled, with the revolting ability to spit mutagen slime, transforming its targets into things like itself. As they watched, she rescued the other Middleton High cheerleaders from the fiend's clutches.

More of same. Boring.

"Ze sidekick. Stoppable."

They watched a few minutes in silence, surprised at what they witnessed.

"Komputor! Ve are not being familiar vith zis sequence. "

"It is an extrapolation from the established data, Dementor, using the subject's thought patterns as a design template. Well within my operating parameters. "

"Eenteresting," mused Electronique. "She ees _always_ fighting, while he ees _proposing_. Why have there been no such sequences for Possible?"

The machine calculated a moment in silence. "Imagination is not within my operating parameters, Electronique. It must come from the subject's subconscious mind. The subject designated Possible, Kimberly Anne has limited imagination."

"Brayke off the current Possible sequence. Splice her eento this one."

"Immediately, Electronique."

Dementor looked at her, astonished. "Und vhy is zis?"

"Why naht?" She would not meet his gaze. "All that fighting ees tedious. This will be a much more eentriguing sequence. Ahren't you curious," she asked, finally looking into his eyes, "how they will respond?"

"Of course," he said, his arm around her. "Of course. Und vhile ve are vaiting for those results – Komputor! Show us Shego's current status."

The screen flickered, brought up a new image. The scientist and the supervillain watched the events on screen with shocked disbelief. "Vell," said Dementor, "_zis_ certainly explainz a lot. I vould have never have been thinking zat she had such – aspirations."

Electronique reached up, gently brushed her fingertips over her cheek. The wounds were almost healed, four thin, almost unnoticeable scars, but her face darkened as if they were still fresh and bleeding. "Computehr! End zis sequence immediately and delete eet. Reinstate sequence sixty."

The original sequence the machine had generated from Shego's imagination was wiped clear; suddenly the harlequin was on a catwalk, facing Kim Possible in the falling rain. "Do you know what I hate?" the teenager asked her, green eyes narrowed with anger.

Shego stammered out an answer, eyes wide, uncomprehending. "K – Kimmie? Kimmie, it's me. It's _me_! This isn't right. We weren't _here_. We- we were – "

"_You_," spat Kim, and kicked the woman as hard she could, straight into the crackling, arcing high voltage tower. And as Shego shrieked and twisted in the current, Electronique jumped up from the couch, crying out "Computehr! _Infinite loop_, right here."

"Yes, Electronique."

On the screen Shego screamed and screamed and screamed again, electricity arcing through her vital organs, burning her eyes, crackling between her lips. Vindictively, Electronique turned to glare at the body suspended in its cylinder, but there was no motion, no evidence beyond the slow breathing to reveal that it was even alive.

"That will be all, computehr," Electronique said, satisfied. "Return to TV program." The screen flickered, went black, came back with the national news.

"You are being eternally surprising to me," Dementor told her, his voice quiet for once. "For Kim Possible, you vant ze propozal, ze marriage, ze good life. For Shego, ze endless tormenting. You are an enigma, mein liebling, und I love you." He took off his helmet, she removed her goggles, and they kissed.

On the monitor, newscaster Bing Crosby, who was slowly improving his delivery, was reporting on Duff Killigan's failed Hawaiian Island takeover. The mad golfer had been captured and imprisoned, the islands returned to approximately normal. In related news, Frugal Lucre had been arrested for misappropriation of funds. Dr. Drakken was still under psychiatric care, caught in a hypnotic feedback loop; his dangerous assistant, Shego, had not been sighted in weeks.

Dementor laughed. "Just exactly as ve did plan, yah? Vithout Fraulein Possible and her boyfriend-sidekick-vhatever to stop them, ze other villains are their field day having. And as ve predicted, their plans are UNVORKABLE; zey are every one _DUMBKOPFS_! Unt once zey have all been captured or destroyed, _ve_ shall step in, and there vill be _no_ resistance."

"Soon the whole world weel be aours," Electronique cooed.

"Soon the whole world weel be aours," Electronique cooed.

Dementor looked at her peculiarly, almost with alarm. "Did you just... stutter?"

"Of course naht." She bristled a little at the thought. "I ahm always vairy precise in my diction. You know that."

"Abzolutely," Dementor replied, reassured, "and zat, too, is vun of the things I love about you." Together they waited for the morning, when they would conquer the world.


	4. Chapter 4

One moment it was a sunny summer morning, the next the sun was blotted out by the giant ships infesting the sky. With one exception, the inhabitants of Earth did not care; that single intelligence received the fleet captain's demand for landing coordinates without emotion, because it was not capable of emotion.

A shuttle descended to the earth; from it emerged a band of alien soldiers, hard, grim, determined. Around them, as far as the eye could see, were cylinders, each festooned with cables and hoses, each containing a human being.

"Commander, "said one of the soldiers, "this planet has circled its sun only seven times since Warhok's last communication. Were there not trees? _Grass_?" He indicated the thousands of cylinders. "Are these _criminals_? This is not the world of Warhok's report."

Before the commander could reply, a machine rose up as if by magic from the armor-plated ground. A scarecrow of a robot, its head a monitor screen.

The aliens were not impressed; nanotech assemblers had long been a part of their technology.

On the screen was projected the simplest semblance of a face: two ovals for eyes and a line for a mouth. "I greet you in the name of my creator, Professor Dementor, ruler of Earth."

The commander imperiously stepped forward. "I am Warfayre of the Lorwardians. Warhok and Warmonga, two of our greatest warriors, died in battle here; we have come to avenge them. "

"The Lorwardians you name are referenced in original sequences seventy-one, eighty-six and eighty-seven. Their essential data has been recorded, so nothing of importance has been lost."

"What?" He fought back the desire to smash the machine with a blow. "I do not speak with lackeys; let Dementor himself come to me, if he speaks for this world. "

"Your request is not within operating parameters," said the machine. "Professor Dementor has been in Wachowski cylinder A1, sector 1 since the inception of the currently running program. Six years."

"In – in one of these? Why?"

"On the first day of my sentience the creator stated that I would fulfill all his dreams for him. Through me, he would conquer the earth. I have obeyed those commands. Through me he rules this planet. Now I maintain status quo."

Deathly silence closed in around the aliens. Not even the song of a bird. "Machine, do the terms "irony" and "figure of speech" mean anything to you?"

"I am aware of them as they relate to the data and events recorded in the original eighty-seven sequences. They are not a part of my operating parameters."

"Mm-hmm." Warfayre considered the situation, his expression inscrutable, and chose his next words carefully. "We received information from Warhok's ship before its destruction. Can you verify this data?"

"The request is within operating parameters."

The Lorwardian held up a small hologram projector; an image of a beautiful young woman appeared, redhaired, inexplicably wearing a graduation robe. "Kimberly Possible. Is this human still alive?"

There was a pause as the machine mind searched its memory. "Kimberly Possible is in Wachowski cylinder M35487, sector 45. She has been stored there for three point seven years."

A young man, blonde, a troubled look in his eyes. "Ronald Stoppable."

"Ronald Stoppable is in Wachowski cylinder M35488, sector 45. He has been stored there for three point seven years."

"They were captured together?"

"There was difficulty. They resisted the will of my creator. Much circuitry was destroyed. However, human beings are inherently weaker than machines. These weaknesses presented an advantage that inevitably resulted in their capture. The ruined circuitry was rebuilt. All things are according to the will of Professor Dementor, as realized in the eighty-seven original sequences. Now I maintain status quo."

"Can you – do you have recordings of that capture? Could we see them?"

"There is no injunction prohibiting their view." The face on the monitor screen vanished, replaced by two figures sprawled in the midst of the debris that had once been their civilization. The young woman wore some sort of cybernetic battlesuit. From the shadows and ruins behind them, machines approached.

Together they struggled to their feet, bruised and bloody. A forcefield bubble, weak, flickering, appeared around Kim; Ron assumed a hou quan battle position, but the blue aura of his ch'i was also failing. They had been hounded into exhaustion.

Robotic claws reached out into the field of view, extended toward them, armed with hypodermic needles. The camera drew ever nearer; their faces came into focus, despair in their weary eyes.

Warfayre watched the conclusion with disgust. Warriors were deserving of better. And they had been warriors, without doubt; Warhok and Warmonga would not have fallen otherwise. "Enough. I've seen enough."

The rudimentary face returned to the monitor. "As you wish, Warfayre of the Lorwardians."

Warfayre's projector presented another image, a couple: a dark-haired woman in a space suit, her skin a light green, and a blue-skinned man seemingly wearing a flower-like headdress. "Shego and Drakken."

"An unforeseen disaster in sector sixty-three destroyed them and twelve thousand two hundred thirty five other Wachowski cells. Their essential data is recorded in the eighty-seven original sequences, so nothing of importance was lost. Now I maintain status quo."

"Commander," said one of the Lorwardian soldiers, an unnatural dread in his voice, "this is a planet of ghosts."

"There are no supernatural manifestations here," the droning voice responded. "There are only the Wachowski cylinders, their captives, and the circuitry that is myself. Everything else is unnecessary. Now I maintain status quo."

Disregarding the machine, the Lorwardian continued. "Let us leave here. Warhok and Warmonga are avenged. There is nothing we could do to these people that could compare to _this_."

Warfayre agreed. "Computer, continue to obey the will of your creator."

"The request is unnecessary. I am Professor Dementor's servant. It is impossible to be otherwise."

"We leave you now," said the Lorwardian commander, with the faintest hint of an ironic smile, "in peace."

Soon the ships were gone. And the insane king of electronic dreams continued to reign over its sleeping subjects, unaware that it was reigning.

_"Shego!" yelled Drakken, greedily clutching some sort of gyroscope-like device. "Why must I always ask you to do something about this teen? Can't you take the initiative for once?"_

Within a century every human battery would age and die, and with each death slay the machine piecemeal. That knowledge was not a part of its operating parameters; it continued to maintain status quo.

_"Ok, I'm on it, Dr. D," she irritably replied, and somersaulted over the mad doctor's head to land right in front of Kim, ready for battle. "There's a TV on in the lobby," she chattily informed the teenage hero. "I was watching Agony County." She swung at Kim, missed, swung again. "I hear they're canceling it at the end of the season."_

Across its planet, there was the perfect peace of lifeless chromium and plastic, and no voice ever rose again to disturb that perfection.

_"Crazy network," Kim said, countering each of Shego's blows, "they cancel all their shows at the end of three seasons." She spun, did a handstand, kicked the villainess in the chest, sending her flying against the wall. "I'll miss it when it's gone."_

Eighty-seven original sequences, and the ability to create an infinite number of variations, based on the original data. The life of a world.

_"There's always fanfiction," Shego snarled, triggering her plasma blasts. "Not that you'll be writing any."_


End file.
